


You Mean the World to Me

by sunshinetina



Category: Football RPF, Germany NT - Fandom
Genre: Friendship/Love, German National Team, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinetina/pseuds/sunshinetina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Set during and right after Marco's injury against Scotland. Mario is there, as always. And he is the only person Marco would ever need.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Mean the World to Me

_Mario’s POV_

 

Everything seems like a movie set in slow motion. I see him falling down, then fingers wrapped around his left leg – the sight too familiar and too painful to be ever forgotten – whilst his body twists and he buries his face in the grass. His hand then moves and hits the ground several times and I am too close not to hear his desperate whines and gasps as he murmurs _Warum ich? Scheiße! Verdammt. Gott!_ , and repeats the words in different order several times. My own feet do not listen to my now empty mind as they approach him and I look down.

 

‘Marco?’

 

I don’t know whether he can hear me, amidst the silent now stadium, but he cries out in pain once again, shaking his head violently. Thomas lifts up his gaze and meets mine, with hurt face. I feel my lower lip trembling and I shift my look at the person who fouled Marco – his eyes wide open and nervously biting his lips.

 

‘Warum nur?’ but my voice lingers somewhere there, amongst all our teammates, as they sigh desperately.

 

‘Scheiße, Mario!’ is next thing I hear and I send a quick look at Marco and how his hand moves to his face, whilst the other hits the ground again. I mechanically raise my hands at the medical team (why, the hell, are they taking so long?), waving at them several times and shouting, although they probably won’t hear me from the other side of the pitch, ‘Fffffuck...’

 

I look down at him and see him trying to move but unsuccessfully, and clinging back to his leg. I just squat and my hand lingers over his, stroking it gently, wishing to send all my positive energy to him. He just turns his head around and clenches his teeth, desperately trying not to cry out again.

 

‘Everything is fine, Marco. Shhh, all is good. You’ll be ok,’ he just shakes his head and I move back once the medics surround him and, more or less, push me away. I see Thomas making his way to the guy who fouled Marco and quickly shake my head, following him. I catch English phrases now and then when Thomas explains that this was more than a foul but the Scot only nods and agrees it was kinda unnecessary. _Kinda unnecessary_? He just got back from a serious trauma! He missed the World Cup! He missed-...

 

‘I didn’t mean to...’

 

‘Fine, fine, just realise it was a nasty thing to do,’ Thomas waves and I look at him, then at the Scot, then at Thomas, and I feel I am about to punch something – someone, for God’s sake – and that I am about to cry. I see Marco standing up with the support of the medics and slowly walking out of the pitch before lying back down again and covering his face with his hands again. He is crying. Even without seeing or hearing him, I know Marco is cursing and is biting his lips, and is cursing again, tears falling down his cheeks, while his hands try to wipe them away.

 

‘Don’t _mate_ me,’ Thomas’s irritated voice makes me look back at Mulgrew, ‘Not to mention the fact you claim _Reus_ was the one fouling you.’

 

‘But he-...’

 

‘Sh, sh, calm down. Accept it, apologise, and that’s it.’

 

‘Yeah...’ I manage to murmur when Thomas looks at me for encouragement. The next few minutes are a trance.

 

-

 

‘How is he?’ the doctor winks at me and pats my back.

 

‘He’ll be just fine. We will know for sure tomorrow, but seems like something to do with the ligament. Give him a month or so, and he will be back, stronger than ever.’

 

‘He doesn’t want to see anyone, does he?’

 

‘You know him better than I do, Mario. You decide for yourself,’ the doctor smiles at me and pats me once again before walking away down the corridor. I open the door carefully and step inside, trying to avoid any noise before closing it behind me. Marco, however, hears me and turns his head around to see who has come. Smiles slightly and shifts back to staring at the ceiling. His leg is stretched across the bed he is lying on, with a big white bandage on it.

 

‘Does it hurt?’

 

‘I am used to it.’

 

And just this sentence sends a sharp pain through my chest. I look down and try to wash away from my memory all the moments several days before the World Cup.

 

‘Go, Sunny. The game is over and your family is waiting for you,’ my heart twitches at my nickname and I bite my lips.

 

‘They’d know I am here.’

 

‘I am sure they’d know. And they’ll accuse me once again for taking their son away from them,’ I can’t see him properly but I know he is smiling. I smirk too and step towards the bed. He shifts again, looking at me, ‘Did you panic out there?’

 

‘Yes, Marco, I did.’

 

‘And how much did you want to punch Mulgrew?’

 

‘All the way to Scotland and back,’ he laughs wholeheartedly and I smile slightly. My gaze follows his leg and I instinctively touch it. Marco bites his lips and involuntarily presses his knee at my palm. I smile again.

 

‘What did you think when I fell down?’

 

‘You want to hear it, don’t you?’ we smile at each other and he wiggles his eyebrows, then nods. I feel my cheeks starting to get pink, ‘That I wished it was me falling down, not you.’

 

‘I would have killed them all if it was you.’

 

‘Then I will do my best not to get injured, since I don’t like you to turn into murderer,’ my hand moves to his face and then my fingers brush his hair, to which he winces. I smirk, knowing how precious his hair is, so I tug a bit harder, to which he gives up and sighs, slightly shaking his head.

 

‘You wouldn’t like me to come to your house and stay for the night, right?’ I see him holding his tongue, then shaking his head again. Then he puffs and stands up, supporting himself on his elbows. I try to help him, but he just pushes my hand away and sits on the bed. Looks at his leg and clicks his tongue.

 

‘If you stay for the night, I might get used to it,’ he smiles without looking at me and I sigh, cupping his face. He has no choice but to lift his gaze at my eyes, ‘Did you miss me in Brazil?’

 

‘I missed you the most the second I scored the final goal, when I didn’t see you on the pitch running at me.’

 

‘You looked kinda stunned, true,’ we both laugh and I press my forehead against his. He melts into his typical half-crooked smile, ‘I miss you, Sunny.’

 

‘I know, Marco. I miss you too. And if I have already apologised thousands of times, it still isn’t enough. I am sorry, I am _so, so_ sorry, Marco,’ he smiles again, rubbing our foreheads and placing his hands on mine, which are still cupping his face.

 

‘Don’t apologise. You just wanted to be close to home, I understand,’ he puffs and arranges himself on the bed.

 

‘You didn’t understand months ago,’ he shakes his head and looks away, then again at me, half-smiling.

 

‘Back then I believed in the cliché that _home is where the heart is_. I lied to myself that your heart is in Dortmund.’

 

‘It is.’

 

‘No, Mario, it is not. Your heart, your soul, your everything are painted in red,’ he pauses and waves with his hands, ‘Look around. All that could have been yours. But you just didn’t feel like it.’

 

‘The only thing in Dortmund which I ever wanted to be mine was _you_ , Marco. And you know it.’

 

He goes silent and looks at his leg once again. Shakes his head.

 

‘Leave me alone, Mario. You have better places to be at, better people to talk to.’

 

‘You are _still_ lying to yourself,’ I cup his face once again, but he refuses to look at me, ‘Marco? Look at me.’

 

‘Leave me alone.’

 

‘I won’t. Look at me,’ he finally does and his dark-green eyes are almost filled with tears. I try to smile encouragingly and he half-crooks yet another smile, ‘ _You mean the world to me._ Don’t you ever forget that.’

 

\---

 

_Marco’s POV_

 

Mario’s eyes glisten under the bright light in the medical room. He brightens up in yet another blinding smile and I can’t help but curve my lips in response. My leg hurts – it hurts more than the doctors told me it would – but when Mario presses his forehead against mine, when his nose slightly brushes mine, when my eyes follow his lips parting, I feel like I could survive any pain.

 

‘Your world must be an extremely boring place,’ he laughs and I realise for the n-th time that he is the only person who could make me smile at any, _absolutely any_ time and circumstance, ‘But then again, your world is Bavarian.’

 

He chuckles again and suddenly leans forward, embracing me tightly.

 

‘Hmpf, as my leg wasn’t enough,’ I over exaggerate my lack of breath and he continues laughing quietly, his temple pressed at mine. His left hand travels through my hair, whilst his other one slightly brushes my back. It tickles – it tickles way too much when his fingertips pull my hair a bit – but I am trying not to smile or chuckle. We stay like this for awhile before I decide – screw it! – and hug his waist, pressing him closer to me that it is socially acceptable.

 

‘Don’t you ever _dare_ being injured again,’ I nod at his quiet order, ‘I felt like someone grabbed my heart, ripped it off my chest, threw it right in front of me and stepped on it several times. It was awful.’

 

I smile against his neck and he sighs deeply, instinctively pressing it at my lips.

 

‘I will come to Dortmund every time I can. And I will play the nurse for Marco Reus at any time.’

 

‘Didn’t know you had a role-play kink,’ I chuckle and I swear he is blushing now, although I can’t see him, ‘It’s ok, Mario, I will be fine. A month, that’s all. I will see you in November in that ugly town of yours.’

 

‘At least I won’t be booed there.’

 

‘They didn’t boo you today, though. Were singing your name,’ he nods in the crook of my neck and I smile again. We stay silent for awhile, aligning our breaths in sync, ‘Anyways, come to Dortmund any time. I will protect you against the angry fans.’

 

‘I want to stay tonight.’

 

‘ _I_ don’t want to,’ a lie. The greatest lie I could share. I want him to stay, I want him to be with me, I want him to take care of me. I want _him_. But I know perfectly well that when I wake up tomorrow, he would be gone. And I am injured and hurt enough. I can’t endure waking up to Mario’s absence. Not again, ‘I _cannot_ want it.’

 

Mario nods understandingly and steps back. This time I cup his face and grin at him. Then I bite my lips and squeeze his round cheeks, to which he laughs.

 

‘If you stay now, you’d have to stay forever. I won’t let you go again.’

 

‘That’s kidnapping, Reus.’

 

‘I would risk my life for such a pleasant crime, Götze,’ we both laugh and I follow how his eyes sparkle at mine. I just melt into a frozen smile, ‘Go now. Go or I won’t be responsible for the next thing I say or do.’

 

‘I am taking all the guilt, then,’ he steps closer and I exhale loudly, not entirely sure whether the moistening of my lips is because of my breath or because of his.

 

‘Who is your best friend in Munich?’

 

He frowns a bit and I can’t help but smile at his confused little face, ‘All of them are kind to me.’

 

‘Do you play FIFA with them?’

 

‘Oh, yes, I do. It’s the funniest with Thomas, though,’ he grins again and I nod, sharp pain in my chest.

 

‘Do you go out for some drinks? Or cinema, maybe?’

 

‘Yes, with David, Manu... Now Robert also joined us.’

 

‘And after that?’

 

He sighs and smiles slightly, his cheeks getting red.

 

‘After that, I go home. Sometimes I have guests, sometimes I cook only for myself. If Ann is not out of town, she is with me too.’

 

The sharp pain grows bigger and I look away from him but he presses his forehead at my temple. I feel his fingers on the bandage and I clench my teeth to suppress another painful groan, reminding myself that yes, it still hurts like hell.

 

‘All of them would never _ever_ replace all the mornings I woke up to your message, all the afternoons we spend joking around the training grounds instead of really training – do you remember Kloppo’s angry faces and how we had to make laps, but we still laughed like crazy and couldn’t do them properly?’ I nod and bite my lip, looking down, ‘And then the evenings, when we would play FIFA, watch some odd movie which Mats has recommended us-...’

 

‘-...and then you would snuggle to me, tell me _gute nacht, Marcinho_ and would fall asleep. In the morning I would always wake up with a paralysed hand, but it felt so good having you in my embrace.’

 

Mario smiles, turning completely red, then nods, ‘And it felt so good falling asleep, listening to your breathing,’ he takes a loud breath, ‘We are so pathetic, Marco.’

 

‘No wonder why the fans always make up some names for us.’

 

‘I like them, though,’ his face lightens up again and I giggle. Then we stay silent for awhile again and I lift up my eyes at him.

 

‘Go, Mario, please. The doctors said they would come back for me. It would be fine. I already called Yvonne and she would stay with me tonight. I would even get the chance to see Nico, I missed him.’

 

Mario just nods and steps back, softly smoothing his hair over. He grins at me and I melt in a smile.

 

‘Don’t forget to bomb me with messages.’

 

‘You know I would.’

 

‘I also know that you don’t like to complain when you are in pain,’ I nod and feel his hand pinch my cheek, to which I laugh slightly, ‘Ok, I am going now.’

 

I nod again and he quickly brushes my hair before leaving me alone. It feels awful. It feels just like he described it – like my heart is being crushed right in front of me. I look at the door, as if expecting it to fling wide open and Mario to brighten up the room once again. And it does open, the doctor rushing in and giving me a helping hand. I stand up, ouch-ing a bit before supporting myself on his arm and putting my cap on. I slowly walk out and attentively stepping down the stairs. There is a crowd but I try not to look at them, annoyed at all the fuss regarding my injury and all the _Gute Besserung, Marco!_ comments all of them whisper or shout at me.

 

As soon as I step up in my car which I won’t be able to drive in the next month, I stretch my leg and take a deep breath. Look at my phone and hesitate whether to do what is teasing me.

 

_Are you home yet?_

The text back doesn’t come right away and I pout, looking at the phone every now and then.

 

_I shouldn’t be texting while driving._

I smile and hastily type back, _Remember when we were singing to Bieber’s stupid songs when I was driving?_

The next response is also slow and I imagine Mario getting a bit frustrated but also tempted to look at his phone, stressfully sticking his tongue out.

 

_They are not stupid. Your singing was._

I laugh and type twice as fast as before.

 

_I miss your singing, though._

_You miss everything about me._ The response this time is almost immediate and I realise he must have reached his destination. Another beep. _But that’s my case too._

_I will be back soon._

_You better be._

_And I will score against Bayern in November._

_Ok, don’t overdo it._

I laugh again but the car takes a sharp turn and my leg hurts again, to which I puff, annoyed.

 

_Good night, Marco. You know how angry mother goes when I pay more attention to you than to her._

I smile, remembering how his mother once scolded me for bringing a huge bag with food for Mario and for always spoiling him. I look at the screen again, imagining how Mario would smile to his parents now, will have a long dinner, then tuck himself in bed and, probably, not sleep because he would think about my injury, but still wait for dawn to text me, because he would think I am already asleep. I take a deep breath and start typing.

 

_Gute Nacht, Sunny. And thank you for always being around, sometimes even without actually being. It means a lot._

And then I curse, typing again. I feel fierce blush covering my cheekbones.

 

_You mean a lot. To me, I mean. The world._


End file.
